Wasn't Dean
by eventyrland
Summary: Sam's very hurt and very confused...


It wasn't Dean. It couldn't be.

Could it?

Dean wouldn't sound like that. All full of broken choking crying. Dean would make some stupid joke and call Sam a bitch for not looking out for himself better, like Dad had taught them.

And then Sam would call him a jerk. And they'd get the hell out of here.

No, it wasn't Dean. Couldn't be.

Sam's head was spinning; going round in impossible circles. He couldn't see anymore. Only blurs. Just dark with the tiniest fractions of light. Head wouldn't work; couldn't hear, couldn't think.

The only thing that remained real was the rope still burning his wrists like fire. Every tiny movement hurt. Across his chest, too – couldn't breathe.

There was not-Dean again. Closer.

Sam panicked, forcing his body into movement, into the rope –

His vision went fully black. Nothing to see but everything to feel.

Not-Dean calling _Sammy_.

_Don't you fucking call me Sammy._

Real-Dean wouldn't hurt him. Sam conjured up a picture of real-Dean in his head – almost had his face before it span away, smashed into a million pieces in the black pit of pain.

And this wasn't real-Dean. He was not-Dean. And if real-Dean would never hurt him…that meant not-Dean would. Sam was shaking.

_Sammy._

Again.

The voice sounded like it was in the same pain as Sam. That was strange. Usually when people hurt Sam they enjoyed it.

_Dean?_

It was a trick, it had to be a trick. The not-Dean was playing with him. No one could find him here, that's what _they _said. Sam was dead from the moment they took him – whoever theywere. He still didn't know. He would never know. Dead people don't know things.

Did that mean he'd always been dead? If you're gonna die anyway, why even call yourself alive? There's no point –

Something touched his side.

Sam screamed.

_God, Sam. Sammy? I'm so sorry._

_Dean?_

Everything was in pieces, scattered everywhere, and Sam couldn't pick them up.

_No. No, no, not Dean. Wasn't Dean._

Some tiny pressure that felt so enormous lifted from over his eyes. Light? It's not real. Won't look, can't look. Not Dean.

The voice was twisting out words that fell tumbling over him.

_He's dead, Sam. I killed him. When are you gonna believe me? You're safe._

Real-Dean? Or was he dead too?

No, there was no Dean. Dean wasn't here. Couldn't be here.

_I'm sorry._

Shit, whatever this Dean was, he apologised a lot.

Warm breath spread itself over his forehead. Receded. Came back. Like being at the beach, watching the waves. Listening. Feeling. Sam liked that. Didn't hurt.

He leant into the waves.

_That's it, Sammy._

Sam flinched. The words were too close. Tried to get away.

_Fuck,_ that hurt. Whole body on fire. Couldn't move. No, no, please. The panic came flooding back. Not-Dean. Not his Dean.

_Sam. Can you open your eyes? For me?_

_Fucking no, Dean. Hurts._

Dean? He just thought-called him _Dean?_ Just Dean. But that's not Dean. Not-Dean. How many times did he have to tell himself that?

_Let me go. Please._

Real words, one by one. Forced out of Sam's mouth. Hurt.

_Sam? Sammy! It's me, it's Dean. Yeah? I've got you. Just look at me, yeah?_

That…that was real-Dean. Sam's head hurt. His own dry breath caught in his throat. Coughing fit.

The pain burning into his chest burst into the impossible.

His eyes flew open.

Looked like a dream. All red and orange and yellow and black. Blurry. Like hell. His breathing was rough and coarse and everywhere and –

_Dean?_

It was Dean. _Real-Dean?_

_Yes, Sammy. Real Dean._

So tired. Everything hurt.

But Dean was here. Wide green eyes staring down at him… all wet. That was sissy. Sam told him so.

_Okay, Sammy. Let's get you out, yeah? This is gonna hurt… it's not far to the car. Think you can make it?_

Sam wasn't sure.

At all.

Hurt so much.

The restriction on his chest disappeared, followed by his wrists. _Fuck. _The fire was back, blazing incessantly inside him. _Don't make a sound. Don't let Dean know he hurt you._

Too late.

The gasps of pain were already uttered, the blackness reappearing at the edges of his vision.

Blackness that looked so beautiful.

_Sammy, don't you pass out on me, bitch._

_Jerk._

He couldn't even tell if the insult had made it past his lips, but Dean snorted quietly.

_God, Sam, you really broke yourself this time. You look awful._

Sam felt himself being pulled into a sitting position for the first time in… God knows how long.

_Wasn't me, Dean. And thanks._

_I know, Sammy. I know._

Burying himself into his brother's shoulder was the only way to make it go away. A little bit.

Not really.

_Fuck._


End file.
